A.N.: This chapter contains *triggers* so be careful. It's not graphic, but does contain suicide, so feel free to skip it. I'll do an undetailed summary at the beginning of the next chapter.
Resurgam
39
Her Choice
She smiled, gently bouncing Grayson in her arms, almost dancing as she wandered around the living-room, and he smiled at her, reaching his tiny fingers to her mouth, his gaze curious. He was becoming so aware of everything, quite the little investigator. She chuckled warmly, and kissed his fingers, making loud kissy sounds that made him chuckle throatily, kicking his little legs. He was growing fast. She had missed all of this with Elena, but Grayson… He made her forget.
He was her chance to amend every mistake she had made.
Giving up Elena had never been a mistake; it had been the best choice for both of them.
But seeking out Damon…asking him to turn her… She would regret that for decision for far too long, haunted by the ghosts of what might have been, as she observed from a safe distance the happiness of the man she had loved more than anything, and abandoned, taking for granted everything he was.
She had wanted…more.
Excitement, the supernatural.
More, she had come to realise, was in the undiluted joy sparkling in Grayson's eyes when she pushed him on the swing in the sunshine. It was Matt's appreciative smile as he ate another pot-roast she had prepared. It was meeting Rose and Lagertha for a drink downtown, and patching things up with Katherine over expensive champagne and shopping for diamonds in Richmond.
It was spending time with Elena.
It wasn't all sunshine and rainbows, of course, but looking into Grayson's eyes, all the bad things tended to just melt away. And today…well, it hadn't been a perfect day. But it had been close. She and Elena had met for brunch, and taken Grayson to the park; he was just starting to toddle, wobbly, gripping her fingers like tiny vices, grinning the whole way, before landing on his tiny little butt in the grass. They had had a little picnic, trying Grayson on some new finger-foods, after success last week introducing him to banana, blueberry muffins and broccoli. He had loved the cottage cheese with strips of mango, giving a little contended hmmm of delight when he had gripped the mango in his hands and experimented by sucking on it. The entire process of weaning Grayson the last few weeks had been a messy, vibrant affair; Isobel had enjoyed every second of it. He loved chicken and carrots, and mashed potatoes made him grin, and his eyes were on any melon like a hawk if he spied his dad preparing it on the counter - but then, his eyes always followed his daddy whenever Matt came into view. Grayson's entire face lit up when he saw his daddy.
He was his daddy's boy, and no mistake.
Isobel was just privileged to have cuddle-time with her grandson.
Strange that all the decisions she had made in her life had led her to the one thing she had always been so reluctant to embrace: Parenthood.
It wasn't just Grayson she enjoyed spending time with. Perhaps more than Elena, even, Isobel…enjoyed spending time with Matt. Her son-in-law. Weird to think of him as that, given she'd never had any relationship with her own daughter, but…it had been growing, organically, ever since Giulia had admitted Isobel into the loft so she could help take care of Grayson when Elena had left him.
When Grayson grumbled, kicking his legs, she went to the refrigerator, pulling out one of his bottles. He could hold his bottle himself, now, and clung onto it as she hoisted him more securely against her waist so she could check on the dinner. She avoided the spot on the floor where she had had to clean up Elena's blood earlier.
She had dropped a knife on her bare foot, as they prepared dinner. Thankfully she hadn't lost any toes, but the blade had gone straight through… Isobel could admit, she was a little unnerved. And something burned inside her - not shame, but something close to it…the feeling that she had maybe made a mistake. It was hesitation. She had misgivings. Elena had cried, but refused to let Isobel call an ambulance, or even help her hobble to the car so she could get Elena to the E.R. The health insurance premiums Matt was paying had already risen because of her car-crash back in September.
So Isobel…had given Elena some of her blood to heal. She had cleaned up the blood, and continued to prepare dinner while Elena went and had a bath to clean up and settle her nerves. Isobel cuddled with Grayson, to soothe hers.
She tested the veggies, finding them cooked to perfection - she cooled a finger of carrot for Grayson and handed it to him to chew on - and called out to Elena. "Elena? Veggies are cooked - I'll plate up in around ten minutes. We'll try Gray on this fish pie, hm?" She cooed at her grandson, who smiled around his carrot. He had tried fish, loved mashed potatoes, and enjoyed hard-boiled eggs; her mother's fish pie was a favourite of Matt's, and contained all the things Grayson liked, with a lot of cheese in a rich roux. She'd never been more meticulous in making sure there were no bones.
Matt wanted to start feeding Grayson small portions of what he and Elena ate, so they didn't have to cook two meals every night. Grayson would eat with them, and he'd eat what they ate. In that way, Matt was sterner than Elena about the way they would raise their son: Though Elena had lost her parents as an adolescent, Matt had become an adult much younger than Elena ever had - he had been forced to look after himself, and his train-wreck of a mother and a drug-addicted sister, before he even started high-school. It was Matt who had done all the cooking, the cleaning, the grocery-shopping, Matt who got after-school and vacation jobs to pay the rent and utilities, all while struggling to maintain a decent GPA and play football for the Timberwolves. Marrying Elena had been his dream come true. Until she started to remind him all too much of his mother, his sister…two people who should have loved and supported him, who took him utterly for granted. His sister had died; he had kicked his mother out of the house after a catastrophic return from one of her extended Virginia Beach vacations with whatever boyfriend she'd had at the time. Matt hadn't seen her since. But he was starting to see her in Elena, and that frightened him.
It frightened him to think Grayson would have the same childhood he did.
There was no answer from the bathroom. "Elena? Come on, honey, I hope you didn't fall asleep!" she laughed, smiling to herself, but her brows drew together as a scent hit her nose.
Ammonia.
Frowning, she turned and set Grayson in the centre of Matt and Elena's bed. He yawned, and started playing with his toes, smiling at her as she leaned down, a sombre weight suffusing her body, and kissed his cheeks, stroking his soft dark hair.
She knocked on the bathroom door, and frowned. "Elena, honey? You okay?"
She tried the handle. Locked.
And that's when she started to worry. She inhaled sharply, and gave the door a blunt hit with her shoulder. There was a soft crack, the lock giving way, and she pushed the door open.
The stench of bleach hit her like a wall, her eyes watering against the powerful chemicals. And horror dawned as she stepped into the bathroom. The floor was soaked with bleach, and pink-tinged water. The shower-curtain, drenched with bleach, had been pulled across the tub. There was no lap of water, no movement behind the curtain; Isobel went hollow as she approached, knowing what she would find even before she peeled the curtain back.
Elena's dark hair eddied in the scarlet water. Her lips were blue against her death-pale face. She lay fully-clothed in the bathtub, filled with her own blood, and Isobel spied her wrists, floating beside her jeans-clad hips… Even beneath the water, Isobel could see that Elena had opened her wrists along the bone…using the knife she had dropped on her bare foot earlier.
The blade glinted dully on the bottom of the bathtub, winking at Isobel almost mockingly.
That's when Isobel realised why it was so quiet. She couldn't hear a heartbeat. Nothing.
Elena…had died. Taken her own life.
With Isobel's blood in her system.
As Elena's eyes burst open with a violent gasp, scarlet water sloshing everywhere, Isobel fled: She grabbed Grayson, turned off the stove at the mains, grabbed the diaper-bag, her purse, and left.
She did not look back.
Last week she had bought a car-seat to keep in her car. Now she tucked Grayson into it, despite his protests - he frowned up at her, confused, writhing; and she had to remind herself to be gentle as she buckled him in, her hands shaking, as he grumbled. She sat, to catch her breath, and dropped her head in her hands with a quiet sob.
Her fault…
She should have known. Should have known.
Dropping the knife…her protests against going to the E.R. - perfectly reasonable, given the cost of healthcare…wanting to clean herself up and calm down, while Isobel…looked after Grayson.
Elena had taken her life, taking for granted that someone else would take care of everything for her. Take care of her son for her.
If she had even spared a thought for Grayson at all.
Isobel's eyes burned with tears, and she raised a shaking hand to her eyes as she choked and sniffled and let out a few sobs. Because this was tragic.
This was…her daughter repeating her mistakes. In spite of her best efforts, and everyone's attempts to help, Elena had ignored them all, and done exactly what she wanted. She had gotten what she wanted. Isobel's blood, in her veins, when she opened them up with a knife.
Isobel sniffed, and wiped her eyes. Elena had known what she was going to do today. That was why she hadn't fought against meeting Isobel for brunch; had played along with Grayson as they experimented with weaning foods, let Isobel play with him. She had helped Isobel with dinner, all part of her plan to get hold of a knife and create an accident…an accident she could use to manipulate blood from Isobel, knowing it was the truth when she said Matt couldn't afford higher premiums from another E.R. visit, playing on Isobel's emotions to get what she wanted.
Hyper-aware that Grayson was grizzling in the backseat, squinting in the dying sunlight, Isobel drove away from the apartment building, connecting to her phone through her car, "Call Giulia." The call connected, and she bit her lip, waiting anxiously for Giulia to pick up.
"Hi, Isobel. How was your picnic?" Giulia asked; Isobel had asked Giulia what finger-foods she had first introduced Zita to. Pasta, of course, hand-made by Enzo to be the perfect size for her to eat without choking.
"Elena's…" Isobel swallowed thickly, her lip trembling. She squeezed the tears out of her eyes as she drove down Main Street, wiping her face. She tried again. "Elena's…she had my blood in her system, Giulia, she dropped a knife and then -"
Giulia said, sombrely, "Slow down, Isobel… Tell me what's happened."
"I screwed up!" Isobel declared, hiccoughing. "She dropped the knife and I - I gave her my blood! I should've known, should've - I should've realised. She dropped the knife on her foot, Giulia, it landed point-down… She said Matt couldn't afford the health-insurance premiums if she went into the hospital again. So I - she asked me for my blood and I gave it… And she…" She exhaled slowly, sniffing as Grayson grizzled in the backseat.
"Is that Grayson?" Giulia asked quietly.
"I grabbed him and left. She - Giulia, she… Elena slit her wrists in the bathtub," Isobel said, her tone more matter-of-fact than she felt. Her heart was burning. "Her heart stopped, and then… She's in transition."
For a moment, Giulia didn't answer. Isobel knew Giulia had heard her. "Where are you now?"
"Driving," Isobel said hollowly. She had no specific destination in mind - her only thought had been to get Grayson away from Elena. "With Grayson."
"Go over to Rose's," Giulia advised, her voice heavy, as if…as if resigned, rather than anything. As if she had been expecting this, as much as Isobel had worried, in the back of her mind, about the very same thing. "Tell her what's happened."
"I screwed up," she whispered. Giulia had woken her to help Elena, be a positive influence on her life and coax her into asking for help to get her through her postpartum depression, to not make all the same mistakes Isobel had made… The one thing Giulia had kept her alive for, and she had failed.
"You didn't," Giulia said, sighing sadly. "Elena knew exactly how to get what she wanted from you. This isn't your fault."
"What am I gonna tell Matt?" she breathed, horrified, and glanced at Grayson in the rear-view mirror. He'd never let her near Grayson now, not after this.
"The truth," Giulia said dully. "I'm downtown, so I'll head over there…make sure everything's okay…"
Isobel sniffed. "What about Elena?"
A telling silence, then Giulia said, dangerously, "This was her choice. And she's hurt people to get what she wanted. She can face the consequences on her own."
That was it: Giulia's position on Elena's transformation, boiled down to one grim, unyielding statement. Where Elena was concerned, Giulia had reached the limits of her tolerance.
Isobel wiped her face, and drove to the Boarding House, parking behind the renovated barn where Rose lived, unlatching the car-seat to carry Grayson upstairs, looping the diaper-bag over her shoulder.
The handsome, tanned Original, the quiet one she had seen only a handful of times, had never even heard of in all her research, sat comfortably on Rose's sofa, a glass of red wine in his hand, looking superbly relaxed, when Rose answered her door. There was a chess-set arranged on the coffee-table, a game in play, but the sofa-cushions were squashed next to him, as if Rose had been cuddled up close. And Isobel had the distinct impression she was imposing on something very intimate.
Rose's pretty hazel eyes went from Isobel's tear-stained face to Grayson, and her lips parted. There was a noise below them, and Damon and Stefan came into view, Stefan's arms splattered with grease from working on his Porsche in the garage attached to his and Damon's own barn. Isobel blinked, hard, glancing between Rose and Damon, who tilted his head to one side, frowned, and murmured something to Stefan; they changed direction, climbing the steps to Rose's front-door.
"What's happened?" Rose asked softly, as Grayson cooed in recognition, smiling at her, straining against his harness.
Almost panting, Isobel admitted, "Elena…she - killed herself."
Shock. Undiluted shock radiated from all but Finn, who unfolded from the sofa, tall and tanned, to take Rose's wine-glass from her as she faltered, reaching for the handle of Grayson's car-seat.
"What?" Damon blinked.
"That's not…all… She had an accident; I healed her," Isobel whispered hoarsely, her eyes burning with grief and guilt. "I healed her."
Realisation dawned.
Rose admitted them all inside, leaving the door ajar to let in the sound of nightingales and the last of the most stubborn insects chirping on the cooler night air.
"Where is she now?" Rose asked sombrely, as Finn curled up on her soft cream rug, cross-legged, and unbuckled Grayson's harness, carefully lifting him out. He cooed and gurgled, and smiled at the ancient Original vampire, who leaned back, behind the end of the sofa, to a woven rattan basket full of tactile toys made of organic materials: He picked out a ball and a rattle, and Grayson grinned. He knew this game. Isobel watched, numb, as Damon helped himself to her decanter, and Stefan washed his hands of the grease in Rose's little kitchenette area.
"At the loft. I left her… I grabbed Grayson and left her…" Isobel said, shaking her head, still in shock, sinking into a rocking-chair. "I left her there…"
After a tense moment, Rose said quietly, "Matthew will thank you for removing Grayson from danger."
"I'm the one who caused the danger," Isobel cried. "She would never have -!"
"The way Elena has been since Grayson was born, it was only a matter of time," Rose interrupted gently, but with a stern bite as she continued, "And a question of who she used to get what she wanted… She wanted to be in control of herself again, without the guilt of abandoning Grayson, of disappointing Matthew. She didn't want to have to feel any of it… As a vampire Elena no longer has to feel anything if she chooses not to."
Rich with delighted incredulity, a familiar voice crooned, "You've got to be kidding me." Katherine, lurking in the doorway, eavesdropping. Her dark eyes lit up, and surprise dominated her expression as she gaped. "And she always claimed she was nothing like me!"
Rose went still, staring at the girl in the doorway. Elena's likeness exactly, except the length of her hair, and a sultry confidence Katherine wore like armour. "Katherine."
"Hello, Rose," Katherine said, in the same guarded tone, both of them still as statues, as predators spotting prey, tense for a conflict.
"This is awkward," Stefan sighed, drying his clean hands.
"It's astonishing how history echoes itself, isn't it?" Rose said in a murmur to Katherine.
"One thing you can be sure of; I would never have used and betrayed my own mother to get what I wanted," Katherine said, smirking luxuriously, eyeing her elegant shell-pink fingernails.
"No, just everyone else," Damon said, with a snide little smile, raising his glass in mock-salute to her. Katherine just smirked.
"Better you die than I."
"You did not condemn us to death, Katerina," Rose said sternly, and, Grayson gripping his forefingers and toddling unsteadily on the carpet, Finn glanced between Rose and Katherine, the sight of whom made him gulp subtly. He watched them, carefully, frowning subtly as he tried to follow their conversation in English more advanced than the conversational English he had learned. "You condemned us to run, for five centuries. All of us. I had Trevor, my best-friend, my family. How did it work out for you? Klaus slaughtered your family, didn't he? The only people in the world you mattered to… He skewered your father to the door of his manor with his own sword. And your mother… They say he tore her limb from limb. Better they died than you?"
It wasn't taunting, the way Rose said it; just…sad.
"I suppose you think I deserved it, for betraying you," Katherine said tartly. She rolled her eyes subtly. "I was looking out for myself."
"For yourself, yes," Rose said gently. And it showed the difference in their characters, that though Rose was only older by decades, she was far wiser. "You were naïve not to think your actions would not have consequences that landed squarely on you."
"Well, I learned my lesson," Katherine said, in a clipped tone.
"The wrong lesson," Rose said softly, squatting down to smooth Grayson's soft dark hair, her features incredible sad. "And now Elena must learn it, too."
"Like mother, like daughter," Katherine said, a dig at Isobel, who didn't have it in her to bitch back.
"I was never Elena's mother," she clarified dully. "Only the means to an end."
Damon handed his brother a drink. Stefan murmured, glancing at Isobel almost hesitantly, "She really did it?"
"There's nothing you could have done, Stefan," Damon told him in an undertone.
"If it hadn't been Isobel, she would have only manipulated you to get your blood," Rose said gently. "She knew exactly how you felt about her."
"Yeah, felt. As in, past tense. When she was a teenager and we were together," Stefan said, and beside him Damon's eyebrows rose in surprise. "Not now that she's married, and a mother."
"You're telling me you feel nothing for Elena Gilbert now?" Rose asked sceptically, exchanging a look with Damon.
Stefan shrugged. "It's been over a decade."
"Feelings like you had for her don't just go away, Stefan," Katherine sighed, her gaze searing as she raked her dark eyes up and down his lithely-muscled body.
"Sure they do, under a deluge of blood, and a decade spent being tortured by Klaus' monologues," Stefan said glibly, smiling. "And, you know, having hate-sex with you as a rebound was really cathartic."
"You're welcome," Katherine smirked, her eyes like shards of ice.
"If we're going to continue this conversation down that trajectory, we all need stronger drinks," Damon warned.
"Rose…would you mind sending Elijah a message?" The Original, Finn, said softly, digging a sleek new iPhone out of his pocket and passing it to Rose as Grayson, gurgling, crawled into his lap, and yawned, nestling there, popping his thumb into his mouth; Finn offered him the rattle, and Grayson gripped it, playing contentedly. "He should be made aware of this."
"You know, you should be doing this," Rose told him quietly, as if no-one else was in the room. "I know you know how."
"I don't like using it; it's too small in my hands," Finn said. He had a rich voice, lightly accented. His voice was warm in a way that instantly soothed, relaxed Isobel as she listened. "It feels too fragile."
"Come here," Rose smiled indulgently, taking the phone from him. He had huge paws, Isobel observed, long, clever fingers calloused from hard labour, tanned from the sun.
"You don't like cell-phones but you're happy playing with a baby?!" Damon blurted incredulously.
"Leave him alone, Damon," Rose warned, without looking away from the phone.
"Alright, fine," Damon grumbled, and went still as Isobel's phone buzzed on the coffee table, where she had left so she could clearly see if it illuminated with notifications. Damon asked sharply, "What's happened?"
Isobel picked up her phone, reading the text. "It's…Giulia, she…" Isobel blinked dazedly, her mouth going dry. She gulped several times, eventually murmuring, "Elena fed on Matthew."
"What?" Rose asked sharply.
"Apparently, Giulia just got there, but…she had to pull Elena off Matthew - she was too late," Isobel said tremulously, horror setting in. She read on. "He has his ring, he'll be alright."
"Ring?" Katherine frowned.
"The Gilbert ring. Ric gave his back after he retired; Elena gave it to Matthew in college, when they started dating," Rose said, and Isobel breathed a sigh of relief she hadn't realised she was holding. The ring she had given Ric before she had left him…the ring John Gilbert had given her, all those years ago…returned to their daughter's husband, to protect him…from Elena herself.
"So he'll be okay," Damon prompted quietly, downing the last of his bourbon.
"He'll live," Rose amended, with a touch of darkness unusual to hear in her voice.
"How could she be so selfish?" Stefan frowned.
It was Katherine who pulled a face, and sighed, "Guess she's got an eternity to figure that out for herself."
In spite of her transformation, she was unwieldly. Unused to her honed senses.
No match for Giulia, who bodily grabbed Elena and pulled her off the prone figure crumpled on the living-room carpet. Blood had splattered over the sofa; and the air was ripe with anger and Matt's terror, and bleach. Lots of bleach.
But the overriding scent now was death. Not just Elena, that recognisable scent that made Giulia's nose twitch any time she was caught unawares by a vampire in the vicinity, the same way werewolves had learned to use scent to track their chosen prey over the centuries, able to pick out a vampire miles away…but Matt, too.
His heart had long since ceased to beat: Elena…had been luxuriating in her first feed, hands fisted in Matt's shirt, the collar torn, his throat ripped open.
Giulia ripped her away by her hair, tossing her away, and when Elena whirled and advanced on her, hissing and exposing her bloody fangs, Giulia punched her in the throat, and jabbed her in the eyes with her fingers when her head snapped forward in reaction. A third hit while Elena was temporarily blinded and discombobulated, an open-palmed smack to the face so fierce it sent Elena flying, a spray of Matt's blood spewing from her lips as her body twisted in mid-air, and she crumpled on the floor, dazed.
It was then that Elena started to pant, unable to catch her breath. Suffocating.
Giulia watched her struggle to her feet, shaking her head, disoriented. Calmly, coldly, she told Elena, "You've not been invited in."
Elena hissed at her again, her usually shining white teeth bloody, but Giulia was unmoved: She watched as Elena crashed her way out of the door Giulia had left open in her haste to get inside, hearing no heartbeats as she had climbed the stairs.
As soon as Elena had disappeared, Giulia's heart thumped in her chest, and she let out a shaky breath, crossing to the door to shut it before a neighbour taking the stairs could see something. She slung her purse down on the couch with her jacket, and knelt down carefully beside Matt's lifeless body, gently turning him onto his back, and examined his hands.
Relief swept through her as she spied the chunky, antique ring wedged on his finger. A Gilbert relic, one of a pair of rings: Jeremy wore the other. One day, Grayson would wear this one.
She tucked a cushion under Matt's head, pulled her phone out and sent several texts… Then she sat on the sofa, and waited.
It was hours before Matt's hand twitched. Before his eyelashes fluttered, and with a choked gasp, he jolted into consciousness, shuddering as he glanced blearily around the loft, already…afraid, as if he remembered, those few fragile moments before the absolution of death…Elena, feeding on him, using him to complete her transition into a vampire, severing the last ties to her human life, her life with him, with their son…
Coughing, spluttering, his hand shaking as he reached for the torn, blood-soaked collar of his shirt, Matt sat up, against the coffee-table, panting, and blinked quickly at her. Her face was damp; she wiped it dry on her sleeve, delicately sniffing before sending a quick text to the new group-chat she had set up.
Matt reached a hand to touch the healed skin of his neck, still blood-stained but no longer torn. His hand was shaking; and he was panting. He blinked dazedly. "She…she finally got what she wanted."
He burst into tears.
Giulia stayed with him until Isobel returned, carrying a sleeping Grayson in his car-seat. And Giulia…she let Isobel take over, sitting with Matt after settling Grayson in his crib: Giulia had her own little girl to look after.
Waiting for Matt to resurrect had drained her.
She climbed into the Audi - freshly valeted, again, no hint of the scent of blood clinging to the upholstery - and leaned against the steering-wheel for a moment. Her phone started to sing, and she squinted against the brightness of her screen as she sat in the dark of her car.
Her heart thudded, and she accepted the call without hesitation.
"My dear… Where are you?"
Her eyes burning, Giulia sniffled, "Outside Matt's loft."
Elijah sighed softly. "Finn told me everything." Tears slid down her face, grief for Matt, for Grayson, weighing heavily on her. "Is there anything I can do for you, Giulia?"
She sniffed, wiping her face. "Just…talk to me?"
"Of course… Shall I meet you?"
"I need to go home," she sniffed, giving a shaky sigh, her voice tremulous as she added, "I just…want to give Zita a cuddle and thank Enzo and… I just want to sit with you, if that's okay."
She wanted him to hold her together. Because she was tired, so tired…
"That will always be okay," Elijah said warmly, and Giulia nodded silently, tears dripping down her face, catching her breath shakily.
"I miss you," she admitted hollowly.
There was a moment's quiet, then Elijah said softly, "I love you too, Giulia."
They ended their call, Elijah not wanting her distracted as she drove herself home. I love you too, Giulia… She missed Elijah. She was in love with Elijah. As she always had been.
And she was so tired, tired of being lonely, of missing him, of not allowing herself the one thing she wanted - him.
Because she had responsibilities. She had commitments. And she honoured her promises.
She crept home, Enzo reading in his bedroom with his headphones on; he gave her a grim look, but didn't rise from his armchair, where he was settled and comfortable. She made the point to walk over, lean down, and tenderly kiss him on the forehead. He watched her solemnly as she withdrew, and she turned to Zita's bedroom, the door stood ajar, letting in golden light from the hallway. She sank down, perched on the edge of Zita's bed, and reached out to smooth her perfect curls away from her face, utterly relaxed in sleep, Tisiphone curled up with her, both of them snuffling contentedly.
Gazing at her daughter, Giulia knew there was nothing that could provoke her to give up Zita.
The knock on the front-door came fifteen minutes later; it was soft, not wanting to disturb the household.
Giulia crept downstairs, tucking her cardigan around herself, her heart stuttering, and she turned on the porch light, opening the front-door.
Her heart sank into her stomach, her jaw dropping.
A dark-haired man stood in the soft golden light, tired-eyed, younger in his face than he seemed in his eyes, which were sorrowful and sexy. His face was more lined than she remembered, his dark hair subtly streaked with silver, his goatee scruffier than she remembered, a fresh cut above his right eye and a fading bruise on his jaw.
She gasped, "Fabian."
A.N.: I just love how soft Finn is in this fic. He's a bit of a silent giant but he's also the invisible backbone in the family, his presence just sort of bolsters everyone without them even realising it - he's taken for granted, like the best people often are.
So…the UK is on lockdown except for essential shopping. I will be updating constantly! I hope everyone is keeping safe.
